The Opening Match...

The House Show crowd was loud and restless. The rookies sat on the east side of the arena, not too close nor too far from the ring. All of them were eager for the show to start. Suzanna seemed especially eager for the show to start. Her impatient glare was so intense it generated heat.

"Uh, hey, Suzanna..." Vités nudged her, "Are you okay?"

She looked at him with the same wide-eyed glare. The others flinched, even the usually stoic Ramatla. Vités waved his arms, "N-Not'ing. Forge' I said anyt'ing,"

She turned her glare back to the ring. She actually hadn't heard his question with how focused she was on her need to use the bathroom and was hoping the show would distract her.

Lodestar stood with a 1.75 m, 163 Kilo Caucasian man dressed in a red singlet and white boots. The man was Wiley Morton, a local wrestler the crowd seemed to love.

Their excitement turned to anger when they heard Simon's music. He walked slowly in his gear, as well as his jacket and sunglasses.

Lodestar began his introduction, "The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Making his way to the ring, from Yorkshire, England, weighing 150 Kilos, SIMON "THE DREAM" THOMPSON!!!"

The crowd let him have it even harder, booing, hissing, and yelling expletives. It was surreal. No one wanted to see him save for the five rookies and they were only really excited to see him wrestle. Suzanna was perhaps his only fan in the building and she wasn't sure how to feel about him lately. Despite how much of a jerk he was, they all knew that he was the real deal in that ring and they were hoping to see him in action against someone with real experience.

Still, the crowd reaction was unexpected,

"I knew he was a prick," Mostafa said looking around in concern and awe, "but I didn't think, he'd have thousands of people cussing him out like this,"

"I''s giving me chills," Vités added, "Definitely hope I'm never on the other end of dis,"

Suzanna couldn't help but nod. The thought of this many people hating someone on sight. Only the most dastardly of heels could get this kind of reaction in the modern age. Simon hadn't been on TV in nearly a year.

"I hear he hasn't been on TV in a year," Mostafa continued, "What could he have done?"

"None of it matters," Ramatla finally spoke, "I care about his performance,"

The Viking nodded in agreement.

(Who cares what these people think? Thompson clearly doesn't.)

Of course, he couldn't know that for sure, given that Simon's expression had not changed at all. He simply threw off his jacket and sunglasses and walked to his corner. Rookies all sat in anticipation, but none of them could anticipate what would happen next.

The bell rang and Morton charged with reckless abandon. Suzanna was impressed by his speed, but she'd seen Simon dodge faster.

(Hmm. I guess this going to be really short).

To her shock and the delight of the crowd, Morton squashed Simon in the corner.

(Huh?)

"He didn't even try to move," Vités said,

"He didn't need to," Mostafa smugly observed, "Look at him. He's completely unfazed,"

Simon, still emotionless, took several steps forward. Morton backed away in fear.

Suzanna leaned forward in anticipation.

(Oh boy. Here it comes...)

Simon took one more step before falling onto his face and lying motionless.

(What?!)

The crowd, the ref and Morton were just as confused as she was, as were her fellow rookies.

"Wha' just happen?" Vités asked.

"He... He's playing possum," Mostafa suggested, "He has to be,"

"I see," Ramatla cupped their chin in contemplation, "An interesting ploy. It's incredible how multifaceted he is as a competitor,"

Their assessments made Suzanna feel better. Clearly, this was a trick to get Morton to make a mistake.

Morton hesitantly approached and looked around at the crowd before flipping Simon onto his back and going for the pin.

The ref counted to three and the match was over. The second the bell rang, Suzanna shot up to her feet in anger and screamed loud enough for the entire arena to hear,

"WHAAAATTTT???!!!!"

"Sit down!" Mostafa demanded, "You'll draw attention to us,"

Suzanna looked at him, her large teeth were visible. He flinched and held up his hands,

"Or just do whatever you want!"

She quickly understood the situation and sat back down in embarrassment.

The Viking's jaw dropped. Ramatla sat stiff with wide eyes. Vités held his head in confusion.

Morton got up to his knees, still confused. Simon then suddenly popped up to his feet and dusted himself off. At this moment everyone's confusion became anger. The crowd nearly went rabid, hurling expletives and trash at him. The referee swore up and down while screaming into his earpiece. Morton was utterly disgusted, but no one was angrier than the five PSW hopefuls.

The Viking gritted his teeth and growled in anger.

(Is this some kind of a joke?!)

Mostafa shook pursed his lips and shook his head.

(Of all the disrespectful-)

Ramatla sat rigid, violently vibrating in their seat with clenched fists as smoke came out of their ears.

(WARNING! TEMPER FLARING! EMOTIONAL BLOCKERS OVERLOADED! SYSTEM OVERHEATING! SYSTEM OVERHEATING! SYSTEM OVERHEATING! SHUTDOWN NEEDED! SHUTDOWN NEEDED! SHUTDOWN NEEDED!)

"Oh come on!" Vités yelled, which the crowd drowned out, "Wha' de hell was dat?! How is dat even-"

Suzanna sat with her eyes wide open, her expression identical to the one she had on the die of the tryout, right before she sent him flying. Her legs began to shake.

Simon was ready to leave the ring, Morton grabbed his arm and spun him around,

"What the hell was that, huh?!"

Simon merely tilted his head, his expression never changing.

"The hell do you think you are?" Morton continued, getting in his face, "Huh? I asked you a question!" He shoved him. Simon used the momentum to flip backwards to the floor using the top rope as leverage. He landed on his feet and turned away from the ring in one quick motion before walking back up the ramp with the crowd giving him every ounce of venom they had.

Morton called for a mic,

"Hey! I don't know what your damage is- I'm talking to you, you creep!"

Simon stopped and turned his head as Morton continued,

"I don't know what your damage is, but these people paid good money to see us wrestle,"

The crowd popped in agreement, "So get your ass back in here, restart the match and catch these Wile hands!"

The crowd chanted, "Catch these hands!"

Simon just kept walking, angering them once again,

"You think you're better than me? Is that it, pretty boy? Then come down here and prove it,"

Simon just kept walking, ignoring Wiley, the crowd, and the world around him.

"What the hell is this?!" Vités exclaimed, throwing his hands around, "It's like he doesn't care,"

"That's..." Ramatla began, slowly rising from their seat, still shaking and smoking, "... because he DOESN'T!" They roared, shocking the others with this uncharacteristic outburst, "That physique, that strength, all of that talent and skill wasted! Wasted! Wasted! Wasted! Wasted on a soulless, passionless walking bag of flesh!"

The Viking stood up as well, "No passion. No pride! I say we give the people what they want and that's his worthless head on a stick,"

Mostafa also stood up, "The coaches would kill us, also are you alright!" He addressed Ramatla,

"I am fine," They said.

"No, you're not! You're about to explode," He said pushing them towards the stairs, "Come on, move before they have to evacuate the place,"

He led them up the stairs on their left and to the back. The Viking headed for the stairs to his right and made his way down to the ringside area,

"Where you going?" Vités asked,

"I came for a match and I'm going to get one,"

"Bu' de coaches -"

"____ the coaches!"

Vités watched the big man run down the stairs and hop over the barricade. He grabbed a microphone and entered the ring. Morton and the ref, who had begun their own departure from the ring, were bewildered.

Simon disappeared past the stage props and behind the curtain and it was at this moment that Suzanna stood up. Vités recoiled in fear. Her usually round, soft face was now hard and geometric. Her jaw became square, her eyes triangular. Her muscles bulged, ready to burst.

(I-Is she going to fight too?)

Suzanna ran up the stairs that Ramatla and Mostafa used with the speed of a raging bull.

(Oh no, she's going after Thompson!)

Before he could stop her the Viking challenged Morton,

"Wiley Morton!" He yelled, "I am The Viking,"

The crowd went silent, mainly out of confusion.

"Since your so-called opponent is a coward and a disgrace," The crowd cheered a little in agreement,  "I will be your opponent!"

Security started making their way to the ring in order to remove him. He threw off his jacket and ripped off his shirt in preparation for a fight, which got the crowd going a little.

All of a sudden a blur came down the stairs, over the barricade, around the ring a few times and then inside. Vités was down on one knee in the centre of the ring, fist on the mat, eyes closed and mic in hand.

"My name is Danys Vités..." He declared, slowly rising to his feet, "... de fastes' man alive..." He raised his head and opened his eyes, before speaking with a burning passion that sent a small heatwave through the building that ignited the crowd, "... And future PSW CHAMPIONE!"

Vités pointed at Morton, "Let's...", he then pointed at the Viking who nodded in understanding, while still being on guard for security,

"... Do..."

He finally pointed at the ring mat,

"....DDDDIIIIIIIIISSS!!!!"

The crowd erupted. Morton rolled back into the ring, pointed at both of the rookies and formed fists,

"Come on!" He yelled in anticipation,

"LET THEM FIGHT! LET THEM FIGHT! LET THEM FIGHT!" The crowd chanted as the guards entered the ring,

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Lodestar spoke up, "I have just received word..." He paused as the crowd cheered in anticipation, "... that your opening contest..." They cheered even louder, "... IS NOW A TRIPLLLLLE THREAT MATCH!"

The guards exit the ring and the referee enters as the three men circle each other. He orders for the bell to ring and the match gets underway.